Poems (Hoffman)/In the Redwoods

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

Before, behind, on either side they rise,Roots in the ground and summits in the skies."

IN THE REDWOODS

Before, behind, on either side they rise,Roots in the ground and summits in the skies,Huge trunks that tower like ancient pillars high,Gigantic roots that deep embedded lieAnd starry sprays of tiny twiglets swungTo the still breeze, and each a living tongue

Meeting and mingling in the mournful shadesWhose plaintive sadness all the air pervadesLike an imprisoned soul of song that pinesAnd all her pining into music twines,Deep as the buried roots that live below,Sublime as the proud summit's sunlight glow,Yet wandering like a spirit smotheringThe prisoned requiem she fain would singThat ever and anon will swell and rise,Then into sombre silence sweetly dies.

By yonder circling stream wild roses throwTheir pale pink petals in the depths belowAnd where obscurest shades dark waters holdFrail feathery ferns their fairy fronds unfoldAnd swaying, stirring, straying o'er the brinkExhaustless moisture from the streamlet drink;While far above some wandering recluseLets all his wildest, richest, numbers looseAnd in sonorous song sweet sadness drowns,And stays the soothing sense of softer sounds, Away through bending boughs, soft shadows through,He speeds, nor pauses once to bid adieu,Æolian vespers lead the listless strainAnd tiny twiglets tune their lyres again,To pensive musing every fancy goesAnd Nature's ballads lull to sweet repose.

Beneath the tall tree's shade a cabin loneFalls into ruin, while the ceaseless moanAbove its desolation shrieks and stirsChanted by hosts of princely conifers,Around its lowly door rank verdure thrives,The yerba buena fresh and green survivesThe slow decay that dooms the cabin wallOf which prophetic Nature chants the fall,The wild wood oxalis in beauty spreadsMatting the doorway where no footsteps treadAnd plants of every shade of emerald hueTwist, twine and tangle all the door-yard through;While busy chipmunks seek the hazel brush,Where their blithe chattering breaks the slumbrous hush,To gather hoards of nuts and gaily frisk,O'er fallen redwood logs, graceful and brisk.

But still the voices of the trees complainAnd still the wandering winds sob forth the strainThough the wild wind that rocks the giant treesTrembles the low plants through, a summer breeze,Queen of the West, what fortune gave to theeNature's sublimest, grandest orchestra? The throbbing keys of ocean rise and lowerTiming the lofty choir upon the shoreNo other clime can boast, no country claimThy royal heritage of world-wide fame,Before, behind, on either side they riseRoots in the ground and summits in the skies.

What sound of distant harmony is heard?The redwoods listen. Hush! their twigs are stirredBy sea-breeze notes, Pacific's organ swellsAnd answered from the mountains, rocks and dellsBefore, behind, on either side the surgeOf praiseful anthem, of prophetic dirge,Soars to the skies and backward to the seaQueen of the West, this is thy orchestra!